all is fair in love and war
by che-guevara
Summary: This is not a one-shot. Gren, in the Titan war, before meeting Vicious, before going through the hormonal changes. This has nothing to do with the main Bebop storyline. During the war, Gren falls in love with a mysterious soldier.


All is fair in love and war

                He lay in the sleeping bag, his eyes covered, a cigarette in his mouth. Next to him lay his automatic HK G36. He had removed the clip. He couldn't trust too many of the people around him. His pistol was still hanging from his waist, he knew it would bother him a lot in his sleep. The safety catch of the pistol was slipped off, a bullet was in the chamber, and it was very loose in the holster. At the first sign of danger, he could reach for it and fire, without having to go through the whole process.

                He was trying to sleep, but couldn't. The events of the day passed through his head again… The futile attack against the enemy's post… The bombardment… Him firing recklessly at one point, he was so terrified… He remembered throwing a grenade and hearing at least 2 people scream, dying. He rememberd having killed at least a dozen in the raid. But eventually, the order was given to pull back… All he had done was for nothing. He had killed and massacred for nothing. And he had been terrified for nothing.

                No… He thought… Don't say that… Every single one of them dead is another step forward. Everything you do in this war is for something. Don't forget, no one forced you to be here. You came here because you wanted to fight for your country. You're here to die for your country… And your feelings, your life, your experiences, and your regrets are nothing compared to the cause you're fighting for…

                Clichés. All clichés. Clichés he repeated over and over again to convince himself to fight again. Clichés he went over in his mind everyday in his sleeping bag, so that he would wake up the next day and fight again, fight another day, kill more of them, get more terrified, then be back in his sleeping bag, going over the same damn clichés again. 

                Gren looked to his right. A young soldier, much younger than him, had made a bundle out of his coat, shoes, and backpack, and was using it was a pillow. In his sleep, he looked calm and serene. He looked dead. The young face was wrinkled, and dust had settled all over his brown hair. He hadn't shaved for a few days, at least. Gren felt the hair in the back of his neck rise. Tomorrow morning this young boy, barely nineteen or twenty, might be dead. Tomorrow night they might be collecting the bits of his body from the field. Tomorrow night they might be burying him, he thought.

                Hey… Tomorrow night they might be burying me… In this war it didn't matter how courageous or brave you were… It didn't matter how much you believed in your cause. It didn't matter how angry, cold-blooded, ruthless, or passionate you were. It didn't matter whether you were running away in fear or running forward in rage. You just died. You thought you were safe, you thought you were there, then something hit you. You stumbled, you fell, you burned. And that was that. You were dead. People died like stray dogs all over the place.

                Don't think like that, he thought. Being pessimistic will just make you fight worse… You need optimism and courage to fight. And who cares if you die? There will be more who will take your place and fight instead of you… Yeah… People like this kid next to me… There were always more to be killed…

                More clichés, he thought. The sun will soon be rising, he said aloud. No one was there to hear him anyway. The sun will soon be rising… And soon we'll be going to the front again. Soon they'll wake this kid next to me and make him go to the front with me. Couldn't I take his place? Couldn't I fight for two instead of fighting for one? No, he thought. Even if you could, you would never have the courage to propose such a thing. You'd rather see him dead than die yourself. Remember that. You'd rather see the kid dead than die yourself. You have to survive. If you die, you're of no use. Live today, so that you can die some other day. Live today, so that you can kill some more of them. Just live, all right?

                He looked at his digital watch. In ten minutes it would be 5. He could already hear the distant roaring of planes, and from time to time, the explosion of artillery shells. He could differentiate what type of shells they were. He could differentiate what kind of artillery it was. He sat there, waiting for the morning light, hearing explosions, and talking to himself. "That was a 120 mm"… "That was definitely a 150 mm…" "Now, that one I don't know… Maybe it was a rocket from a plane…"

                Suddenly, he heard a loud whistle. Officers were going through the rows of sleeping soldiers, whistling under their ears. The soldiers would stick their heads up, then curl up in their blankets again. Even the ones who didn't want to sleep more would do that. Another tactic of delaying the inevitable, of delaying the moment when they would be filled with a weird cocktail of intense emotions… Emotions dominated by fear… By the sense of duty… By violence… By rage… But mainly by fear.

                Gren saw an officer approaching him. He didn't feel like hearing the whistle right under his ear, so he stood up and started preparing for another day. First, he put a clip in his assault rifle, chambered a bullet, and hanged it from his right shoulder. Then he carefully folded his sleeping bag. He changed his socks, tied his shoes, and quickly went to the "bathroom". He was the first one there, and he was happy. Usually there would be hundreds of soldiers packed there, and no one would really be able to do much. On his way there, he saw two young girls heading toward the female bathrooms.

                When he came back to the barracks, everyone was in an unbelievable hurry. He lighted another cigarette, and saw the young kid from the previous night was still asleep. While watching him, he felt drowsiness come over him… He hadn't slept at all. He shook it off, and started shaking the kid's arm.

                "Wake up, man. Wake up! Time to get up!"

                The kid looked up at him, and Gren saw a pair of sad, black eyes, looking up at him. "Crap… He's really just a boy…" he thought. But discipline is needed in war, and when the kid tried to go back to sleep, he lightly kicked him in the chest. "Wake up! Man". This time, he was successful. The kid stood up, and put his socks and shoes on.

                "Aren't you going to clean yourself?" asked Gren, who was watching him all the time.

                "I hate the mess they make in the bathroom."

                "You might not have a bathroom to be thankful of tomorrow. Don't be such a snobby bastard."

                In fact, the only reason they had a "bathroom" was because the front hadn't moved for 2 months. Countless heroes and countless cowards had died, but the front hadn't moved an inch. 

                They were now walking through the sand, behind the dunes. On the other side there was violent fighting going on. They heard some bullets whistle above their heads. One of the officers, pushing them forward, was trying to say something… Nobody heard him. Nobody cared what he said. Everyone knew where they were going. They were told they were going to make another attack against a very important enemy post. Apparently, it was so important they were going to have both artillery and air support.  They could already hear the bombs splitting the air, first by their fall, then by the explosion, the yellow flash, the black smoke and the gray dust. They could hear the roar of the tanks, both on their side and the other, and the unending clattering of machine guns. They were now waiting behind the sandbags. The tanks, maybe half a mile in front of them, were preparing for a huge attack. They saw the planes in the air, and they heard the rockets and bombs fall. Gren looked at his right, he saw the same young man.

                "Are you okay, man?"

                The boy nodded. He was sweating. "These are the ones you can rally trust. The ones who don't enjoy iy" he thought. He looked to his left. It was a habit of his. He saw a young woman, with long brown hair, sticking out of the helmet. She was almost as tall as him, but skinnier. She was sweating, too. Gren wondered if he was sweating.

                "What are you looking at?" she asked. Her voice was defiant.

                "Good luck", he said, smiling charmingly.

                As he was finishing his sentence, the tanks started rolling forward. The explosions intensified. Dust covered the air. They were ordered to attack a small village near the front. Noone moved for a second, then, as if with prior agreement, everyone leaped out of the trench, and started running forward, trying to find cover behind the rolling tanks, which were now either burning, or firing madly. The machine guns were clattering. Some soldiers were pointlessly shooting forward, knowing full well they wouldn't hit much at this distance. It looked like all the sand on the ground was now up in the air.

                They were now charging the enemy lines. Some of their tanks were past the trenches. Their choppers were shooting at every moving object, sometimes at their own troops. Gren saw an enemy soldier stick his gun out. He tossed a grenade. The smoke filled his lungs. Then he shot one, right in the center of the belly. He kissed his gun and started firing at a small villa. Support troops were rushing from both sides. The whole time, his throat was so dry he couldn't even scream. From time to time, when there was less shooting around him, he would muter "Oh, God…", "Oh, God…", then he would scream some stupid slogan, and start firing again. He was swallowing a lot of sand and smoke. He had very few clips left. Bullets were whistling from above him. Some were hitting the ground in front of him, some were hitting the wall behind him. He was afraid. He was terrified. He could barely see in front of him. H was shooting. He felt a burn in his left arm… A bullet had grazed his skin. "Oh God…Oh God… Oh God…". He could feel the sweat on his forehead, he could feel the sweat under his armpits, running down his side. He took cover behind a brick building and continued shooting.

                Two hours after the beginning of the attack, the battle had almost ended. Gren could hear shots from time to time, and even explosions, but he felt safe enough to start wandering through the streets of the village. Around him, all he could see was destruction and pain. Soldiers were sitting on the sidewalk, silently smoking, saying nothing. He didn't see a single tear. No one was crying. Everyone was just… Blank. Everyone was so silent. The wounded had been moved to the field hospital, and from far away, he could hear their moans. But generally, everything was quiet and silent.

                In a dark alley, he saw the young man from the previous night and from the battle. He went up to him, and made sure he was dead. He looked dead from a few yards away, but you never know. Gren was filled with an even blanker soul now. He thought the boy didn't deserve to die.

                "He probably didn't even know what he was fighting for…" he thought. Then, across the street, sitting in an abandoned bar, drinking something, he saw the young girl from the battle. He didn't feel like talking to her. It's hard to flirt right after killing half a dozen enemy soldiers… Half a dozen soldiers… Against whom you had nothing.

                But he walked to her anyway. He needed some company.

                "Hey!"

                "Hey." She needed company, too.

                "Did you lose anyone?"

                "Yeah. A friend of mine. She was hit by a few machine gun bullets. She suffered before dying. How about you?" her eyes were dry. Her voice was robotic.

                "Yeah. I lost a friend. He's right across the street"

                "Was he fighting when he was hit or was he running away?""

                "Do you really think it makes a difference?"

                "Of course not"

                "Can I have a cigarette?"

                "Yeah" she handed one to him. He had a lighter. He was trying to make conversation, knowing that they had some time before the officers would worry about re-organizing their lines:

                "Are you new?" he asked.

                "Relatively. I've been in the war for a month. This was my first major battle"

                "What do you think of it?"

                "Of what?"

                "Of the war. It's always interesting to hear what the new ones think"

                "I think it's horrible, but I think it's worth it. We're doing it to prevent worse things. We're doing it so that peace can be established later"

                "There's an oxymoron…" he said, with a smirk across the face.

                "I'll fight till I drop dead. Or till I see our side victorious"

                "Wow… You're a real patriot"

                She smiled. She thought it was a compliment. Now, she was just as interested in continuing the conversation:

                "You want a drink?" she had a bottle of whiskey.

                "I would like to. But only if you consider this an official date" he smiled at her, his charming blue eyes looking deep into hers.

                She was intimidated at first. But then she decided to go along and play the game.

                "Sure…" she said, and passed him the bottle.

                "This is the greatest date I've ever had…" he said "I won't have to pay for anything… Plus, I'm drinking whiskey without ice or a glass"

                She laughed. He realized how beautiful she looked.

                Chapter 2 to come soon.


End file.
